But Tonight
by Grasspaw
Summary: Because tomorrow they'll be left alone again, and she'll cry and he'll rage and they'll both die a little more. But tonight she'll sing and he'll dance and they'll both come within inches of feeling alive for the first time... neither one remembers.
1. Chapter 1

***Shrug* Figure this one out yourself. I have a vague idea of what's going on, so I may or may not write that up and post it as a second chapter. I own nothing.**

They almost wish it doesn't happen. It's amazing, it's incredible, but they almost, _almost, _wish they never experienced it, because it's even worse to go back after feeling like this.

Because tomorrow they'll be left alone again, everyone else gone, and she'll cry and he'll rage and they'll both die a little more. But tonight... Tonight, she'll sing and he'll dance, and she'll laugh and he'll talk, and they'll both come within inches of feeling alive for the first time in... neither one remembers at this point.

They just know that the worst feeling in their world, which has shrunk down to this tiny room that once felt so large, is to wake up with only each other for company after everything that happened the night before. And she'll cry. And he'll rage. And they'll both beat against the walls, trapped inside by none other than themselves, to protect the other people that still slip in through the cracks anyways, the cracks that the two of them can't fit through.

She killed one of them once, furious at the way they were being used. Shot a bolt of lightening out of her hand, screaming, and all the people faded like mist, leaving just her and him and the body.

They threw it out the window. The glass shattered, and they cut themselves and didn't bleed when they cleaned it up. They ate the glass for supper and went to sleep and woke up alone again.

And then they set about cleaning up the room and preparing for the next night, when the people that didn't exist would treat them like friends until they woke up.

So now here they are. She's just managed to get off the stage, despite the numerous faceless people asking for one more song, and now someone else is singing some beautiful ballad while she twirls in the arms of nameless strangers. And he walks up to her and taps her shoulder, asking if he can cut in, and she laughs and turns around and curtsies...

Then the dream dissolves. The vision melts before their eyes, like water splashed on a painting, colors mixing together and running all over the place, pooling on the floor, and her eyes roll back in her head while a line of crimson slowly etches itself across her forehead as he kills her again and again and again...

And then they wake up. And they are in the room again, alone. And she's covered in blood and he's covered in tears and he screams at her to just die already. And she cries and wishes she would, because she hates him more than anyone she's ever known, and still she loves him with a crazy, broken love, and he idolizes her with a twisted, oppresive adoration. He'll kill her every night while she shoots him and they both yearn for death because the next morning they'll both be as close to living as they can get. But still, even as they don't live, they don't die. They've tried. They try every night. But nothing comes of it.

So every morning she'll cry and he'll rage. That night they'll dance and sing and nearly remember what happiness is, then they'll kill each other. The next morning they'll be almost alive again.

Every night. Every morning. Every torturous second.

They hate this. They hate each other. Every so often they'll kill each other before the Party, as they've started to call it. More for something to do than anything else.

They've been here so long. Neither one remembers when they first arrived, or how they got there or why. There are a few vague memories of life before - of watches and abilities and murders - but they think it's just a dream. It doesn't matter that they don't dream anymore, but the memories can't possibly _be _memories, because they can't possibly have happened. He suggested once that they were delusions. She asked what wasn't.

After several millions of years, they're still following the same pattern. Screaming and crying and yearning for death. Laughing and dancing and almost having their wish granted.

Until, one night, something strange happens. They're dancing when the hatred spills over and he lifts a hand to slice her head open and then someone says no.

It isn't a voice like the two are used to hearing - or rather, not hearing. They don't use words here. Ideas just somehow gets across. Since this is the first time he's really used his ears in an eternity, he ignores it, thinks he's imagining it, and lifts his hands again. She closes her eyes and waits, electricity crackling on her fingertips, prepared for her counter attack.

Then again, the voice said no. It struck a chord somewhere deep within him, stirring memories - dreams, delusions, whatever they are - from deep within his mind. She feels the same, but the memories aren't as strong, nor are the feelings the voice brings to mind. But still there's something there. Something... strange.

And suddenly, the faceless, nameless crowds begins to disappear, fading the way they did the last time. Within seconds - or maybe hours, maybe years - they're all gone, and they turn to find that one is still there. The man's hair is shorter than the memories of him depict. He's frowning and says that word again, and he lets go of her and walks forward. She stares as well, walking with him, reaching out to touch this man. Once more the scene begins to dissolve, melting colors and blurring lines, and they both scream and jump at the man, desperate for a way out. She cries and he rages and they both want out so badly that they would do anything...

Then they wake up. And she cries and he rages, and they forget the man as though he never existed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Boom. I figured, the explanation was kind of bouncing around in my head anyways, so I might as well write it down... And Claude's here, because I love Claude :~) I own nothing.**

****"Peter! Pete! Come on, poodle, snap out of it. I'm gonna kill you if you get stuck in there."

Someone was slapping his cheek with maybe a little more force than was necessary. He opened his eyes but regretted the movement immediately. The room spun, and only the invisible man's grip on his arm kept him from collapsing. He was sitting in a chair in between two cots, a man on one and a woman on the other. Claude stood in front of him, scowling in concern. "Peter?"

He shoved the man away just as he leaned forward and retched into a conveniently placed bucket right in front of him. His vision blurred, and he ached from the force of the heaving, but he didn't feel quite so sick afterwards. His head was still throbbing.

"I take it didn't work," Claude said, sounding genuinely disappointed.

"Work...?" Peter asked weakly, resting his elbows on his thighs and holding his head in his hands. "What was I..."

The past three days came rushing back to him all at once, and he swore violently as he recalled what he was supposed to be doing. "I was almost there, Claude!" he snarled, jumping up and immediately sitting back down as he felt nauseated again. "I got in! They saw me, they were coming... Then it all fell apart!"

He held his head in his hands once more, not wanting to look at the unconscious man and woman on the bed. Elle and Gabriel Gray had been out for two days, though judging by the looks on their faces when he had finally broken through it had seemed longer to them.

Two years ago Gabriel had, very much against Peter's wishes, rescued his girlfriend from the past, and a year later they had been married. Gabriel had already been one of the most regocgnized "superheroes" already, and Elle had joined right in. A week and a half before, reports had come in about a telepath gone bad. The couple had offered to take care of the problem.

A week later they were finally found.

Unconscious, beaten, and unresponsive was how Claude had found them, and then he had dragged the two to the warehouse that Rebel was currently operating from. The telepath was still at large, but Peter couldn't care less. The man had gotten Elle and Gabriel so deep inside their own minds he couldn't break through the barriers, even after regaining his empathy and having a whole truckload of powers to choose from. And the one time he finally did...

His best friend and his best friend's wife lay unresponsive on their beds, and he was too weak to try again. It would be hours before he could attempt it once more.

"Can I have something to eat?" he muttered. Claude resisted the urge to make a crack at his expense; he had apparently learned at some point that he could only push people so far before bad things happened. Peter was already dangerously close to breaking point; he remembered what it was like being stuck in Nightmare Land, and he had a gut feeling this one would be even worse.

"Sure." He squeezed Peter's shoulder once, the most comfort he could expect from the older man, then left the room. Peter closed his eyes and tried not to think, tried to empty his mind, but it didn't work. There were too many frantic thoughts racing around in his brain.

"Here." It wasn't Claude's voice, and the hands holding out the plate of food were small and dark. Micah.

He took the food, grabbing the garlic bread and taking a bite before starting on the spaghetti. "Thanks."

"Welcome." Micah paused, and Peter didn't look up. The boy was seventeen now, still leading Rebel surprisingly well for a teenager. "Claude got tied up. He asked me to bring you something." Peter nodded and grunted a reply, not willing to talk. He wondered why the kid hadn't left yet.

Finally, his question was answered. "What's it like?" Micah asked softly.

"What? Not being able to help them? It sucks."

"No, I mean, inside there. Being trapped in your own head. It happened to you, didn't it?"

Peter slowly set his fork down. "Yeah. Me and Gabriel were in there for a few years."

"A few_years?_" Micah asked, sounding amazed. "When?"

"The same day Claire jumped off the Ferris wheel. It was years to us. It was five hours out here. I guess the deeper you go the longer it takes... Don't even want to think about how long it's been for them."

"Do you think they'll be okay when they get out?" Micah asked anxiously, compulsively checking the monitors that the couple were hooked up to. Peter set the plate on the ground, appetite gone.

"I don't know. Gabe and I were both... well, messed up, I guess, once we got out. Things were bad for a while, but we did okay." He shivered as he remembered the scene that had greeted him when he finally made it into their heads. "But things weren't as bad for us as they are for these two."


End file.
